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“Better,” she said smugly.

“I don’t think we should whitewash it,” I interjected, refusing to let Elaine win. “Maybe Hamlet really thinks that way. Maybe he is a misogynist. I mean, look at the way he treats Ophelia, kind to her one minute, cold the next.” Michael shifted in his seat and glared at me, obviously catching my insinuation. “Then there’s the way he feels about his mother.”

Mr. Bidwell took the opportunity to guide us into a discussion about Hamlet’s alleged oedipal complex. I only half-listened and was glad when class was over. It wasn’t until then that I noticed Damiel hadn’t been there at all.

I didn’t see him until lunch, and even then it was only briefly. I was eating with Heather as usual, and Fiona, Dean, Jesse, and Farouk all joined us. We were a full table, and everyone was discussing a new action movie that was coming out on the weekend.

“The previews look amazing!” Fiona exclaimed. “Even the critics gave it four stars.”

“I think we should go this Friday,” Heather said, turning to Jesse. “You in?”

“All in,” he said, grinning at her.

None of us thought he meant for the movie. Heather blushed and leaned back in her chair so she could prod him under the table with her foot. Jesse made a face. They were being too cute. Seeing them that way made me wish I had someone to banter with, someone I could be close to. It made me feel even more alone.

“How about you, Mia?” Fiona asked, biting into a carrot stick.

“Sure,” I said, and turned to Dean and Farouk. “Are we all going?”

Outside, it started to rain, hard enough that I could hear the raindrops slapping the pavement. Damiel and Michael stood in the wet field, facing off. They exchanged loud words I couldn’t hear, clouds of breath escaping their mouths. Usually this kind of argument would draw a crowd, but around the cafeteria people were focused on their own conversations—some laughing, some playing. Nobody noticed the scene outside.

Even angry, Michael was stunning to look at: intimidating, but stunning. Cultures dating back as far as Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia used lions to represent warrior-hood. Male lions fight to the death to protect their pride from intruders. When these guys faced off, it was that intense; the air itself crackled between them. The wind picked up, blowing wet, dying leaves off the bending branches. After a few moments, Michael stormed across the field to the trails behind the school grounds. Damiel followed and I wondered what would happen next, what they were fighting about. Was it about me?

Don’t be ridiculous, Mia!

“Mia?” Heather’s voice called me back to reality.

“Mm-hmm,” I replied absently.

“Farouk was offering you a ride,” she whispered. “He lives the closest.”

“Oh.” Composing myself, I turned to Farouk. “Do you mean Friday?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Uh, sure. What time?”

“We’re going to meet at the coffee shop by the theater at six-fifteen.” Heather filled me in on what I’d missed. I was too embarrassed to admit I had been staring at the two most attractive guys I’d ever seen and wishing they were fighting over me.

“How’s six?” he asked.

“Good.”

Curious about the argument between Damiel and Michael, I kept an eye out for them all afternoon but I didn’t see them again. By the end of the day, I began to worry. What if Michael had been hurt? The fact that I was concerned only for Michael was telling. I didn’t expect things to happen with Damiel, and when he wasn’t around I found myself completely un-attracted to him. It seemed whatever I felt resulted from being in his presence, like he had some kind of vortex of charm everyone got sucked into—including me.

Not being around Michael filled me with a kind of longing I’d never felt before. He made me angry, he made me happy, and I would endure anything to spend a few moments with him.

The rest of my classes dragged and the teachers piled on the assignments, trying to prepare us for mid-terms. By the end of the day, I carried the burden of a full workload to my locker. I was packing for the bus ride home when a warm hand touched the base of my spine, sending a tingle right up to my neck.

I whirled around and saw Damiel smiling wickedly beside me. “Got enough books?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered, shouldering my bag.

“What do they say about all work and no play?” His dark eyes twinkled, but I noticed for the first time they weren’t warm. He stroked his hand up my spine to my shoulder, and another tingle ran through me. “Maybe it’s time you played a little. How about it? You game?”

I wondered what kind of game he meant. He stood so close it was almost dizzying.

“You should see the homework they’ve given me this week.” I wasn’t sure how to say no to him, or even if I wanted to, now that he was near me again.

He lifted his hand from my shoulder to brush my cheek, and I noticed small cuts on his knuckles that appeared to be mostly healed. When I looked into his eyes, my reserve buckled, like I was forgetting where I was—who I was—and the pull of his presence drew over my skin. He was bewitching, and I was being reeled in.

Then something broke the fixation, a sound perhaps, or a rush of cool air. Suddenly remembering where I was, I looked away. A few students milled around, talking at their lockers, filling their backpacks, and readying themselves for the trip home.

At the end of the hall, Michael focused on the two of us, singling me out. My spine stiffened. I’d done nothing wrong. Was I supposed to be some kind of nun? A vestal virgin? I swallowed the lump forming in my throat and wished he’d stop looking at me like that, as though I’d disappointed him.

Damiel glared at Michael and the air snapped between them, sending a ripple right through me. Touching my chin, Damiel turned me to face him. His smile spoke of pleasures promised. Pleasures I wasn’t sure I was ready for yet, but I found myself yearning for them nevertheless. Bringing his lips to my ear, he whispered, “Think about it,” before he turned and walked away.

I blinked in the direction where Michael stood and shook the feeling off. He was gone, too. Sadness settled into the base of my stomach. Why couldn’t we talk? Wasn’t that what normal people did?

I grabbed my bag and rushed down the hall to where I’d seen him. He wasn’t there, so I ran outside and found him striding toward his car.

It was pouring out but I didn’t care. My umbrella was at the bottom of my bag and fishing it out would take too long. I didn’t want to stop for fear I’d miss him.

“Hey!” I shouted after him.

When he stopped and turned back to me, my breath caught. He could be such an impressive figure. Tall and strong, he wasn’t afraid of his anger; it seemed to be a force that welled up inside him, one he could completely control. While he didn’t throw it around, I sure didn’t want to cross him.

“What?” he said hotly as I approached his car.

On the road behind him, deep puddles formed into gray pools. Michael stood, his car door open. Rain soaked his already damp hair as tiny streams of water poured down the sides of his face. Even his eyelashes were wet.

My step faltered. My own anger cooled.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

“I don’t get you. Why do you seem to be watching me all the time?”

He mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t hear. At least he didn’t deny it.

I tried a different approach. “Did I do something wrong?”

“How do you feel right now?” he asked, as though that answered my question.